Nostaligia for pain...

One of the odd side effects of a law degree is that you develop a liking for a certain kind of pain. The stress, expense, and cruelty of three years studying in the Socratic Method becomes comforting to you. You start law school terrified out of your mind only to discover, years later, that you are nostalgic for the unending study hours and heavy workload.

Today we cleaned out the garage and I came across my orientation handbook. Tucked inside was a receipt for my first year books. I still remember going to the bookstore to get those books, expecting to go from row to row grabbing as many used books as I could to reduce my cost. I remember the shock I felt when the clerk steered me to the large stack of pre-packed white moving boxes that contained our books. I remember wondering how I was going to get my box back to the car.

Then I looked down at the total on the receipt, and I remembered paying nearly an 18th of my year's living expense allowance for that box of books.

$708.30.

Sickeningly, I wish I could do it all again.

Riding on the short bus...

I am a piece of shit.

One who puts her kids at risk for kidnapping by flashing her high earning profession (oh yes, we environmental attorneys are raking in the dough, just ask the creditors from my student loan company) and pictures of her kids on the internet. They are a ransom just waiting to happen.

I am all over the place, and I can't get it together.

At least that is what the new full time reviewer, Queen Mutha, over at Ask and Ye Shall Receive had to say. Really, what does one say to that? "There's no accounting for taste?" My knee jerk reaction was "Well fuck you!" but really, I was the idiot who asked for the opinion of a bunch of reviewers at Iwillfuckingtearyouapart.blogspot.com. That was all me.

Seriously though, having thought about it, there is some truth to what she had to say. I am all over the place, I don't have my shit together. That is just my life. I am trying to create a world in which I can practice law and stay home with my kids. As it turns out, like many SAHM's discovered before me, the kids just take over. I have accepted and settled one case in one year. Luckily for me, I was able to take this time out and spend it with my babies, but there hasn't been much law for me to write about. There has been parenting to write about, and memes to play in, and hardships to discuss, but not much law.

Happily that will change, and as it does, I will be able to express my frustrations with working and parenting, law and motherhood. For now, it's just motherhood.

I do think I need a new template, but I have been having a hard time finding one that has a low learning curve. I just don't have time to spend hours on my template right now. I will keep looking though, for something cleaner, and attempt to balance the stuff I want to point out to people with a clean look.

Some good comes of all things. That review pissed me off. It made me look back over my blog, and the past two years. It made me feel protective of my words, and the feelings I have shared. It turns out, I like myself. I like my blog. As it is.

I don't care if I no one subscribes to it, or if only my mother and few stalwart friends read it. I am going to keep riding the short bus, with a smile.

Haiku Friday

Baby snuggled close

snoring puffs of hot sweet breath
over my shoulder.

Motherhood rewards
me with delicate moments
spun like spiderwebs.

Catch them when you can
the magic minutes finding
calm between the storms.

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fdispj aeipi .... snork

It's official. My son gets up around 6 in the morning. That seems to be his routine, and therefore, mine. sob

The problem? I am a night person. I can't seem to get myself to bed before midnight. Between my own idiocy and his all night nurse fests, I don't think I sleep more than about four, maybe four and a half hours.

I think I may be doing long term damage to my brain.

I don't want anyone else...

My husband has been feeling sad lately, as he has his own blanket of grief that falls over him from time to time. I am doing my best to let him grieve in his own way, while still letting him know I am here, I love him, and he is not alone.

So, with that in mind:

Honey, I know you haven't seen Juno, and I know a song from a movie about a pregnant teenager may seem an odd dedication, but I really can't see what anyone can see in anyone else, but you. (This sentence will make more sense in a minute and fifty-nine seconds. Trust me.)

So here it is.



I love you.

Fine line between support and smother...

I have a confession to make.

I don't really pay much attention to what medical science has determined is the appropriate age range for my kids to be writing thoughtful prose and reading Heidegger, and I honestly don't sweat it when they take months longer to do certain things they I am told they should do, that is, unless your kids have done these things well before mine have.

The thing is, I am pretty sure most parents are aware that each child is different, but are afraid their kid's difference may be a sign there is something wrong. Whenever a bunch of parents get together, we compare our children against each other. I have to wonder why.

For example, my daughter is an amazing and brilliant kid who can sing any song she hears, has a great knack for playing the piano, and will spend hours creating a single piece of art. Why is it when I hear about kids her age or younger reading really well I feel as though she is somehow performing below her expectations?

I am competitive by nature, that's why. I have a hard time letting go of my need to have my kids be better at everything than your kids.

I have to let go of it though, because trying to make my kids better means denying them who they are. There has to be room for our kids to develop a personality. We have to let them become their own little people, with their own little tastes, while at the same time insuring they are healthy and developmentally sound. It's a high wire act, with constant danger of falling off to one side or the other.

My daughter can read, she just prefers to paint, much like I can do math, but prefer to write. There is nothing healthy about me forcing her to sit and read for hours on end, when she would rather be painting, or drawing, or singing. So long as I know she isn't actually having trouble reading, I should be satisfied.

But still, I feel that little niggle of unease whenever your kids walks earlier, or speaks sooner, or eats more table food. I also feel that little HA of triumph when my kids perform before yours.

I try so hard to choke the life out of those feelings, and to embrace what I know is true; I don't want your kids! I am sure they are great, but I want my kids!! I want their quirks and preferences, their accomplishments and failings. I want all of them, just the way they are.

So I am walking the fine line between supporting their development, and smothering their individuality.

I bet I can walk it before you do.

The Highway to Mommy Hell...

I am driving the bus on the highway to mommy hell. It's the guilt bus! It's a dark cinnamon red, and covered in swirly black flames. The seats are upholstered in matching velvet. There is plenty of room on board, and I bet each mommy out there has taken a seat for a ride every now and then.

Me? I got so used to being on the bus, I volunteered to drive the damn thing.

There are any number of mommy failings that can get me a ticket for a ride on the bus, too much fast food, too much t.v., not enough interactive play with the kids ("No I can't play with you now, Mommy is blogging"). I am guilty of small shame-worthy infractions every day.

However, there is one thing I do, one aspect of my personality, that makes me hop on the bus for the long haul.

I am a yeller. I have a hard time not raising my voice when the buttons have been pushed one time too many.

I know what you're thinking. "C'Mon now Scylla, everyone can yell when their buttons are pushed. This is nothing."

You have never heard me yell.

In my first life I was a theater fiend. I spent from age 9 to age 19 projecting the smallest whisper to the point that it could be heard throughout an auditorium filled with people. My voice is a power that should only be used for good, like "Look out! Car!!" or "The Groom has something he wants to say everyone, please quiet down!" I can raise the roof with the sound of my voice. I am really, really loud.

When I am really angry I can yell loudly enough that I give myself a headache, instantly. I can also yell loudly enough that I terrify my kids, sending them into shocked tears, sending them running from the room.

I don't yell often, because it's horrible to see the looks on their faces, but sometimes the yell slips out. It fights free. It says "Look!! I have been sensible and reasonable and calm and quiet through a day full of argument and not listening and mis-behaving!! I am coming out damnit!" Then it roars forth, from my throat, over their scared faces, into the house, up the stairs, out onto the street. It leaves them forcibly subdued, their tear stained faces turned away from me.

It never feels good after. I don't get results, or better listening. I don't feel any release. I just feel really guilty, and sad that my kids were scared of me. I try really hard not to yell again. I can go weeks without doing so, but then there will be a day when I didn't sleep enough, or Monkey is particularly argumentative, and the loud angry beast will start chomping at the bit. I will inevitably lose the fight for control, and my yelling will land me squarely in the driver's seat of the Red Velvet Express Bus to Mommy Hell.

So, when you come on board the bus for any of your mommy infractions, please be sure to tip your driver.

Put your best face forward

This week I thought I would work a little with portraits. So here are my loved ones, putting their best faces forward!

Monkey

Otter

Lily

Da

Nama

Aunt Sandi

Lee

Self Portrait

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Careening towards "old"

Does it bother anyone else that Indiana Jones is turning sixty-seven years old this July?

67 people!!!!

The sexy leather jacket wearing whip-toting adventurer I lusted over as a young woman is about to be 70 years old. This means that Han Solo is also nearing 70. The smart-ass Star Wars hottie is slightly more than a decade away from the PC term "octogenarian".
Granted, he is a supremely good example of nigh-seventy. He obviously takes good care of himself. However, he can't turn back the clock, and neither can I. Time is marching on, and it is marching right across my reality!!!

This week I feel old. My hero's are old, my peers are adults, my children are getting tall and stubborn, and the hot new actors are young enough to make me a bad person for thinking they are hot. My face is starting to keep it's expressions, long after I am finished expressing.

I am no longer cool!! There are subcultures forming that I have no understanding of! I was in the damn Goth scene! I got it! I had the clothes, the music, the cool hangouts and the seriously Goth friends. I got the invitations to the subversive parties, I wore the make-up, the corsets, the insane seven inch heel thigh high fuck me boots!! I was part of the underground scene.

Now? I am a housewife wondering what the hell "Emo" is!!! It's a thing I don't get! My daughter will soon tell me I don't understand, and she will be RIGHT!!!

There are things in life that I will accept with grace.

This whole aging thing ain't one of 'em. Fuck aging, where's my damn NIN hoodie?

Haiku Friday

Travel with children,
The crying, boredom and tears,
requires tequila.

We left with four hours
plenty of time to get to
the flight to Cali.

Monkey complained of
a painful crick in her neck
crying the whole ride.

We got stuck halfway
twixt Jersey and vacation
I hate construction.

Two hours 'til take off
We can make it, no worries
"Mom? I don't feel good."

An hour thirty-ish
Still on the bridge not moving
bag under her mouth.

Calling airline fast
can they fly us out later
We aren't even close.

Horking in the back
as my daughter adds her own
spice to the journey.

Breakthrough on freeway!
We violate physics laws
as we race the clock.

Check in goes quickly
everyone is late today
stupid construction.

Through security
onto the plane just in time
pant never again.

Five days in Cali
Time on the beach with our friends
Totally worth it.

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To wear or not to wear, that is the question.

Whether tis nobler in the mind to suffer the occasional pains and backache of hefting a baby in a sling or carrier, or to endure the separation of stroller use, choosing a method of baby toting is something all parents have to do. That is, of course, unless you intend to never leave your house. So, in the realm of unasked for advice, I offer you my viewpoint on babywearing.

As indicated in my initial API post, I fell into attachment parenting by accident. It was not a carefully thought out parenting style, but more a response to my personal desires as a mother and the needs of my children. At my baby shower for my first child, I received the usual land-yacht sized stroller and a Baby Bjorn carrier. I also received a lovely handwoven sling from Guatemala. Oh, it was gorgeous. When Monkey arrived, I was eager to place her into the sling, but lacked the knowledge and confidence to tuck her into what amounted to a bolt of fabric tied around my body. Instead, I used the Baby Bjorn. After all, it had the appearance of something scientifically developed. It had straps, and latches, and padding! Clearly, it was safer than a simple piece of fabric held together with a knot!

The Bjorn kept Monkey close to me and it was ergonomically correct, but there was a great deal of material and padding between us, and it was unbelievably hot to wear in the summer, for both of us. It was also a lot of hassle to strap me, and then Monkey into it. Additionally, it was huge, and next to impossible to carry around without my car as I couldn’t fold it up and slip it into anything.

I tried to get Monkey into the sling after discovering the downsides to my baby wearing tool of choice, but by that time she was used to the Bjorn, and didn’t want anything to do with the sling. She just couldn’t get comfortable in it. I sold the lovely sling to a friend for her sister’s shower, and went looking for a cooler and more compact solution. Luckily I found a compact hip carrier from One Step Ahead. While it didn’t allow me to carry her on long hikes, as it rested her on my hip, it did allow me to hold her more often, and for longer periods of time, by allowing my arms to rest. It was also significantly cooler in hot weather. This was the tool I used until Monkey was about three. It slipped into my diaper bag, and later my purse, and allowed me some additional options when she was tired out and wanted a ride on Mommy.

It would be nearly six years before I had another baby, so I had plenty of time to study those instincts I had discovered with my first child and figure out ways to encourage them with my second. I looked into babywearing and discovered a number of benefits I hadn’t known about before. I learned that progesterone levels in mothers increase with physical contact with their babies, which increases the maternal bond between mother and child. I read that babies who are “worn” have a tendency to cry about 50% less than babies who aren’t. I learned that the sling, when worn correctly, can lower backache by more evenly distributing the baby’s weight. I discovered that slinging my baby would allow me to nurse on the go, and even tend to the needs of my eldest child with free hands. I also learned that baby wearing can help prevent hip dysplasia, by helping my child’s hip joints develop deeper sockets. I figured the least I could do was try to sling again when it came time to have Otter.

A good friend of mine made me a Ring Sling, and I put Otter in it within days of his birth. He stayed comfy in his sling. I wore him around the house, out in public, in the grocery store, the park, you name it. I was able to nurse him, even while walking around, because the sling positioned him perfectly for feeding and hid my breasts from view. I can’ tell you how many times I was able to prevent a meltdown during grocery shopping by nursing on the go. Best of all, I could still hold Monkey’s hand when we walked around, and I could play more with her because I had two hands free. I found other uses for the sling as well; I have used it as a last minute picnic blanket, a sunshade when driving in the summer or walking with the stroller, and to secure my baby into a chair as a makeshift high chair at restaurants (once he was old enough to sit on his own).

Otter still loves his sling. He is also a very cheerful, happy baby, who rarely cries. We have seen the benefits of slinging, and I will stick to it if I have any more children. Of course, Otter is over 30 pounds now, so I had to switch from a Ring Sling to a Mei Tai, in order to get some additional weight support when carrying him around. (The Mei Tai crosses over both shoulders, which is helpful in distributing the weight more evenly). The Mei Tai is still small enough to carry in a diaper bag, so I can have it whenever I need it, and it is still significantly cooler than the Baby Bjorn was. It also still allows for skin on skin contact, as there is no huge padded support structure between me and the baby. We have just started wearing Otter in the backpack position, and we both love it. I love feeling his little head snuggle into my back when we are walking, and he enjoys looking around and being close. We alternate between the sling and the mei tai now, depending on how much carrying there is likely to be.

So… To Wear!! That is my answer. Babywearing has turned me into a full-time snuggler, and I am happy to have my baby close whenever I can.

You can visit this post at API Speaks (Tune in tomorrow for our regularly scheduled Haiku Friday and hellish travel day story.)

A island paradise, some friends, and no computer...

Aack!! I went on vacation intending to update my blog to tell y'all I would be gone for a few days, only to forget completely about doing so!! Everything is fine, we are all well, and in fact we are all tan and relaxed and fantastic. We spent five days at Ben's family's house on Catalina Island soaking up some sun and down time with Ben, Aunty Mop, Lily Jane, Devon, Richard and Luke. We spent a lot of time talking, cooking, eating, drinking, wandering around town, swimming, and simply relaxing. Here is a sampling of the myriad of moments I caught on camera.

Lily enjoys a good book on the ferry ride overMonkey is too cool in her movie star glasses

We pass the Queen Mary on our way out to sea

The house where relaxation happens

The garden where we sit in awe at the amazing profusion of color

Otter taste tests the Catalina beachfront

and contemplates the ocean next to our amazing sand castle

Ben begins serious construction on the castle (Luke watches in the background)
Ben, Richard, and Monkey shape their sandy vision with some hard work and water
Ben and Lee add to the Sand Castle version of Catalina's Casino (while Luke reads a book)

Monkey army crawls towards the water's edge after making some sand shapes

The army crawl continues... and continues
Aunty Mop and Lily investigate the powers of sand shovels

I greet my husband in the usual style

Daddy and Otter wander into the ocean

"Mama? Dada? This stuff is cold. I am not sure I should have my feet in it."

Monkey dashes between beach and castle, ever ready to assist with sand dampening

Lily and Aunty Mop splash and play

Mommy and Otter enjoy a break from the wavesMonkey strides confidently into the cold
Aunty Mop and Lily Jane march into the water Mommy and Otter catch a few waves

Monkey sits in the waves, trying to convince herself it's warm enough to swim

Monkey stands atop a mountain overlooking the sea where we sat and searched for seals, whales, and dolphins. (Many a seal was seen, though no whales or dolphins.)

Otter dubiously rides strapped to the back of a golf cart. Initially he was a little nervous, but he began to enjoy it after a few minutes. (There are no cars really allowed on Catalina, so everyone drives golf carts around.)

Ben and Monkey smile goonishly after Ben has allowed Monkey to steer the golf cart up the mountain. (Later, he would let her steer it down. I closed my eyes and prayed.)

What Otter looks like strapped to the back of a golf cart

Otter and Ben hang out at the top of the world.

There was more, there is always more. I caught 337 pictures of the vacation, so I will not be posting all of them. However, there were many moments of baby cuteness between Lily and Otter, along with some more beach fun, so I will likely toss a few more up tomorrow.

I was a little apprehensive about going on this trip, because the last time I went Nick was along and I was a little afraid his absence would be glaring and painful. It really wasn't. I was able to remember the fun we had, feel a pang or two, and then relax and enjoy the days with the people I love. I am so lucky to have such wonderful friends. It was a real joy to catch up with them and just slow down for a while. I didn't want to return to the real world.

Tomorrow I will share with you my take of the travel day from hell, along with more stories of island bliss. Sorry I didn't alert you to my vacation beforehand. I am touched to have been checked in with as much as I have, thanks for caring so much about me!!

Baaoon Mama... Baaoon!

99 dreams I have had
In every one a red balloon
It's all over and I'm standin' pretty
In this dust that was a city
If I could find a souvenir
Just to prove the world was here
And here is a red balloon
I think of you and let it go
-- 99 Red Balloons Nena

Whenever I hear this song I think back to my youth, and get a sense of freedom and joy, an overwhelming desire to spin.

That desire popped, much like a balloon, as soon as I learned that we are depleting our helium reserves in the U.S., and the helium balloon, that amazing anti-gravity children's toy, may not be around for my grandkids. Imagine not seeing the wonder in a baby's face as he tries to figure out why this thing goes up... instead of down.

Helium is non-renewable and irreplaceable. There are pockets of the gas in Colorado, Kansas and Oklahoma and Russia has large pockets of natural gas, helium included, but there has not been a push to extract it. Further, a great deal of Helium is lost in the process of separating it from oil and natural gas. As the oil and gas are brought out of the ground, the Helium comes with them, but it is not captured as it releases, so it drifts up into the atmosphere and ... away. The world's largest pocket of Helium is located in the Texas Panhandle, and at our current rate of use, that reserve will be depleted by 2015.

In personal terms, this means Monkey will probably not have a balloon arch at her prom, and Otter may not be choosing a balloon from a vendor at a carnival by the time he is eight.

Helium can be produced directly in nuclear fusion reactors, and is an indirect side effect of fisson reactors, but the amount created by both these sources don't begin to reach our current use. Basically, it has taken billions of years for the Earth to create our Helium stores, so it's not really a build on demand kind of resource.

Helium can be recycled, and the larger industries users, such as NASA, do recycle it. However, any Helium released into the atmosphere is lost to the Earth forever, and there are no small users currently recycling the gas. To learn more, read up on the issue.

If we are not careful with our Helium, we will be waving goodbye to a childhood tradition, in addition to a scientific resource. This is such a amazing substance, with nothing else like it on earth. It is our connection to the unbelievable, the fantastic, the magical. Let's do our best to keep it around.

"Bbvvoomm... Ma ma na... Baavmmm"

Is it Ground Hog Day or am I a Stay at Home Parent?

There is nothing quite like stay at home parenting to make a person feel an overall sense of deja vu. My routine, for the most part, is pretty much the same, day in and day out. The list of my core duties goes on and on, but I won't bore you with the details of it (it's not necessary for this post).
I will say that of the number of mundane things I do each day I feel the strongest sense of deja vu while sweeping the floor. I have to sweep the floor every morning, because we have more pets than sense, and therefore a pet fur carpet if left unswept more than a day. (Go two days and we begin to get tumblefur.)

Lately I have been feeling an increased sense of having done this all before. This feeling is stronger than "Oh yeah, I did this yesterday!". It's a deeper sense of bone weary repetition. The mundane daily chores of life leave me feeling a distinct lack of ...well distinctness in my day. It's as if the days in my life are all merging into one, and I am living that one day over and over again. Like Bill Murray in Ground Hog Day.

I am sure this feeling is not mine alone, and is shared by other stay at home parents as well as people working outside the home. After all, there is nothing like a mundane 9-5 office job to make one's days pass in a blur. However, I think the isolation of stay at home parenting increases the sense of futility that comes with these repeating chores. I mean, except for tumblefur, why bother sweeping the floor when I will only have to do it again the following day? Why wash the clothes when they will only get dirty again? All the work I do all day has no lasting accomplishment. I can't point to it say "Look! I spent x hours building this amazing thing that will stand for all eternity!" I can say "Look! I scrubbed the floors last week with a new cleanser, and now they are... crud, now they are covered in pet hair and juice spots again."

It's a strange feeling, this sense of not doing anything lasting. Intellectually I recognize that raising my children and caring for them is lasting in a way nothing else really is, but that doesn't mean I am able to step back and admire my handiwork at the end of a long day. Usually, I am only able to collapse on the sofa and mumble "the kids kicked my ass today... would you please get me a beer?" to my husband at the end of a long day.

There is no milestone for stay at home parents, nothing that makes us recognize that all our hard work has paid off this month, or this week, or this year. We get to share in our kids accomplishments, and our those of our partner's, but let's face it, there aren't a lot of childhood dreams that center on being house bitch, so no one is out there creating any House Bitch of the Year recognition plaques.

Out of the mouths of babes...

One of my favorite parts of motherhood is listening to the really crazy things that come out of my kids mouths. For example, when Monkey was 3, she was overheard saying "Where is the fucking trash can?" because her father and I hadn't quite curbed our language enough. She has since learned not to say certain words, though she is fond of saying she can't say them. "I know I can't say damnit right mom? I can't say damnit right? I am not supposed to say Damnit 'cause it's a bad word, right Mom?" Oh yeah, she's a lawyer's kid. We have already had the "dam" v.s. "damn" discussion, and she is six. So, whattaya gonna do? Anyway, as Otter is beginning to speak, and Monkey is a font of interesting turns of phrase, I thought I would share a few of the odd conversations I have had this week.

"Is the baby hungry? Does Otter want some milk?" said I, in a disgustingly cute sing-song voice guaranteed to bring bile to the mouths of anyone overhearing me. "Can Otter say milk? Mama milk? Mama milk?"
"bbvvmm...... Boob" said Otter, repeating the word we have somehow all adopted to refer to breastmilk and patting me on the chest. Oh yeah, that one totally backfired on me, I am going to have the only one year old asking for boob. Great. Really, this will go over well in the more Stepford sections of my town. I am so glad I failed to listen to my friends when they warned me not to refer to breastmilk as something I didn't want the kids repeating. Head-slam-desk.

Anyway, onto a little Monkey magic:
"Mom, I don't know why, but Eric, not second grade Eric in Miss Galloway's class but the other Eric, you know, the blonde Eric? Not the one that pushed me down last week at the playground but the other one? The one that's been chasing me around at recess? Him? That Eric?"
"Yes Monkey, okay, what about Eric?" said a very exasperated and throughly lost Mommy.
"Well I don't know why but he said he loves to hear me scream because it's music to his ears, but I am still faster than him." said a proud and oddly flattered Monkey.
"Great, either he really likes you, or he is a future serial killer. Just tell your teacher if he bothers you or scares you okay?" I said, freaked out a little at the scream statement (not too freaked out, I know the kid and his mom and I am sure he is just being a weird kid, but still).

More Monkey Madness;
"Mommy, what is an umbrella stroller?" asked Monkey.
"It's a stroller that folds up and can be carried on your arm like an umbrella." I said while going for drive-thru ice cream.
"Oh.. I thought it was a stroller with an umbrella, I bet it's really heavy." Monkey responded.
"Not really," said her father "but what shape are the wheels do you think?"
"Uh... round Daddy. They wheels are round." said Monkey, with a credible teenage What color is the red bus tone in her voice.
"Are you sure they aren't square?" he persevered.
"Square wheels don't roll Dad, square wheels don't roll." answered Monkey, in the exact same tone as Bruce Willis in Pulp Fiction when he said 'Zed is dead baby, Zed is dead.'
We lost it, which had her repeating it ad nauseum in the hopes she would crack us up again.

There are more, but at this point, they are all melding into long conversation in my head so I am going to log off and go to bed. Have a good night everyone!!

Weekly Winners

Sometimes the only cure for melancholy is to look for simple beauty in the world. While I was trying to deal with my feelings this week I decided to walk around and look at the world around me. It turns out New Jersey isn't nearly as ugly and gray as I first thought it was.

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Haiku Friday

Feeling better now
after getting lots of love
from my bloggy friends.

There's something special
about this community
of blogger mamas.

Magic in Sharing
a journey historically
traveled alone.

I'm lucky to be
a part of such a lovely
circle of people.

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Haunted

Have you ever noticed that the signs of depression closely resemble the signs of grief? Have you ever considered that maybe the desire to medicate that feeling away is one that should be ignored from time to time? That upping your body's feel good vibes isn't necessarily fully acknowledging your emotional reaction to a traumatic event?

We (Americans) are so messed up about the grieving process, relegating it to a ceremony or two, a few weeks of sorrow, maybe some drunkeness, and then expecting life to continue pretty much as usual. If you look at the ways we deal with grief in our popular media, it’s pretty clear we are not supposed to wallow in it, feel it for the long haul, or even spend much time trying to get over it. We portray ourselves coming across a piece of memorabilia and pausing to gaze at it, preferably in front of a window at twilight with the light filtering onto our saddened faces, while a single tear sneaks past our stoic guise and creeps slowly down our cheek. Alternatively, we drop to our knees, loudly scream “Nooooooo!” in complete anguish, and then run off to exact revenge and overcome the pain with a new life, usually filled with lots of money.

If anyone evidences anything beyond a well mannered grief, we begin trotting out the meds and telling them how depressed they are. I am guilty of that sin myself, telling my mother she might want to take something to help her when she was still clearly grieving her parents death years later. Mom, I apologize. I simply didn’t get it.

I get it now because I am grieving. I lost an important and essential person, one who I spoke with every day, and who I planned on working with for decades to come. A friend to me, my husband, and my children. A man who I could call for professional advice, personal advice, or simply to share some of my geekier law moments with. In the place of him, I have grief. I acknowledge it in the morning, when I wake up and gently remind myself that he is still in fact gone. It sneaks out after the children have been tucked in at night, and I whisper to it, telling it that I know it's still there, and yes, it can come and sit with me a while.

I have been haunted by memory and grief since his death.

See, Nick was one of those people who sidle into your life, linger for a little while in the 'cool person to hang with' zone, and then suddenly become crucial elements of your life. His time in my life, relative to my age, was fairly short, but he had impact. He changed me.

When he died, my heart broke. There was a resounding CRACK from deep within my chest and I can visualize the deep, red, dark chasm that now resides in the place of his existence. I can feel the emptiness in that one spot. The rest of my heart feels fine, it revels in Otter snuggles and Monkey stories, it rejoices in my family, my friends, my work. It gets pumped up to industrial music and thrills when I drive too fast with the windows down. My heart loves and beats as it did before, just not in that one empty spot.

Why was he so crucial? Sadly, the reason was something I didn't fully understand, until it was gone. I loved him when he was alive, and I thrilled in our friendship, but I didn't know exactly what made him so special until a few months after his death. You see, Nick was a believer, he was the ultimate cheerleader, a constant morale boosting inspiration. There simply wasn't anything I couldn't do in his opinion. Every idea I had, every crazy notion I spewed from my mouth was received with optimism. He was like that with everyone. He simply believed in people. He had endless capacity to cheer them on.

He also loved me for exactly who I am. He knew I could be flaky, selfish, and stubborn, that I love to argue with anyone and about anything. He emboldened me, championed my true self. With him I could simply let go and be thrilled with learning something amazingly hard. We gorged on knowledge together. I never had to apologize for thinking endlessly about the law, trying to find it in every conversation, every experience, because he was doing the same thing.

We called each other every time we saw a sign that a lawyer had been at work. The highway sign by the correctional facility that read "Do not pick up hitch hikers", the street sign in Jersey that read "Bridge freezes before road surface", the "extremely hot beverage" warnings on to go mugs. Every time we saw something, we called, or sent a text message, sharing the inside joke. Every time I see something now, I still want to call him, or send him a message.

So I still grieve, fourteen months later, for the person who used to loom so large in my life. Frankly, I don't know if I will every stop feeling that empty place in my heart. I am haunted by the little traditions we created, by the support I am missing, and by the unconditional love that came from such an unexpected source.

It turns out there are people you simply can't replace. He walked into my life, created this Nick shaped space in my heart, and no one else fits in the hole he left behind. I am just going to have to get used to it being empty.

It's hard to be small...

Otter and I joined Monkey and a few of her friends at the playground after school yesterday. We usually stop and play for a few minutes after we pick Monkey up, when the weather is warm and inviting. Otter likes to sit in his stroller and watch the big kids run around, climb, and slide.

Yesterday, about fifteen minutes into the experience, it occurred to Otter that he can walk now, so really there is no reason for him to stay in the stroller watching the big kids, he can play with them. So he petitioned for his freedom, and was granted early release for good behavior.

Off like a rocket he went! (If a rocket is small, toddling, and unsteady in it's gait.) He toddled straight toward his sister on the climbing bars smiling all the way. As soon as he got to her, he grabbed a hold of the lowest rung, and lifted his little baby leg up, and up, and up.

That's when he noticed that the highest he could bring his chubby baby foot was still well below the first rung. He tried again, and again, and again. Then he turned his little baby face to me and trumpeted his little "help me mama" bleat.

"Sorry honey, you are too small to climb on that." I said. I grasped his hand and walked him over to the stairs, as he loves to practice going up and down the stairs. He was happily toddling away again, up and down, up and down, when he caught sight of Monkey heading down the huge red slide. Oh the laughter in her shrieks! How much fun it looks!! In seconds he was off, running full baby speed for the slide, a full size, extra long, way too big for him slide.
I stopped him a few feet from the entrance.

"Sorry honey, you are too small to ride on that, let's go play something else." Oh the screams!! You could hear him argue "I am not too small! I can walk to it can't I! Lemme on Mama!!"

It was definitely time to go. I rounded up the big kids and we all walked home for apple slices, cheese, and Goldfish. I consoled Otter on the way, as he fought with being back in his stroller, with being unable to do all these big kids things, and with being too small.

Poor Otter, so certain he could do what they did, so happy to think he was free and able to go roam the playground just like his sister. Here he is, finally able to walk and run around, finally able to get where he wants to go without Mama, and yet, still too little to do anything once he gets there.

It's hard to be small.

Honey for your honey...

This year for Mother's Day, do something a little different. Rescue some bees. You can get your mom some bee friendly flowers for her garden, donate to a bee worthy cause, or help her make bee friendly hives for her garden. Honey Bees have been vanishing from all over the U.S., and with them our way of life.

Carrot Cake, Apple Strudel, Blueberry Scones, Cherry Tarts, Pumpkin Pie, Guacamole, Broccoli Quiche, French Onion Soup, Butternut Squash with Cinnamon, Almond Butter. These delectable foods and desserts are an example of some of the foods that will disappear from our diet if we can't keep the bees healthy and put a stop to Colony Collapse Disorder. These foods, Carrots, Apples, Blueberries, Cherries, Pumpkins and Squash, Avocados, Broccoli, Almonds, and Onions, simply won't grow without the help of pollinating bees, specifically honey bees. In fact, $15 billion worth of U.S. crops are at risk because of the disappearance of bees.

Why are the bees disappearing? Beekeepers noticed odd behavior in bees and sounded the alarm when seemingly healthy bees began abandoning their hives in 2006. An estimated one third of all honey bees in the U.S. have disappeared. Poof. They have simply flown off.

Scientists attribute the vanishing bees to a number of different factors, including inadequate food supply, pesticide use, and a new virus. The inadequate food supply is due to human activity, building homes in previously open spaces, planting gardens that don't provide bees the resources they need to survive, spraying pesticides specifically targeted at bees. We might like their honey, but most people don't like having the bees buzzing about their backyard BBQ. Sadly, our dislike has parlayed itself into acts that damage Bee habitats, and therefore ourselves. Bees play a critical, and irreplaceable role in our food supply, and we should do what we can to help bring them back. But what can we do?

The National Resources Defense Council has a few ideas:

Bee Native: Use local and native plants in your yard and garden. These plants thrive easily and are well suited for local bee populations, providing pollen and nectar for bees to eat.

Bee Diverse:Plant lots of different kinds of plants in your yard. Plant diversity ensures that your garden attracts many different varieties of bees and gives them a range of flowering plants to choose from throughout the year. Make sure your yard plants vary in:
Color: Bees have good vision and are attracted to several different colors of flowers.
Shape: Different species of bees are better suited for different shapes of flowers. Give your bees some variety!
Flowering times: Having a sequence of plant species that flower throughout the year helps sustain the food supply and attract different species of bees.

Bee Pesticide Wary: There are many natural methods to control pests in your garden. Researchers believe pesticides are a contributing factor to Colony Collapse Disorder. Moreover, some insecticides are harmful to bees and wipe out flowers that provide bees with food. If you must, use targeted pesticides and spray at night -- when bees aren't active -- on dry days.

Bee a Hive Builder: Building your own bee hive is easy and fun. Creating a wood nest is a good place to start -- wood-nesting bees dont sting! Simply take a non-pressure treated block of wood and drill holes that are 3/32 inch to 5/16 inch in diameter and about 5 inches deep and wait for the bees to arrive.

For more ideas on helping the honeybee, you can visit HelptheHoneybees.com, this Haagen-Dazs supported website offers articles on the Bee Crises, links to ideas on how to help, and more. You can also visit and support the PennState Bee research and UCDavis's research. To be more personally involved in the solution join The Hunt for Bees at The Great Sunflower Project. Check out the articles at The Daily Green for more ideas.

The N.Y. Times provided this map tracking the bee disappearances, along with some well written articles on the issue. Click on the map for a link to one of their articles.

The time to act is here, losing the bees will have a direct effect on your lifestyle. No more strawberries on a hot summer day, or piping hot slices of All American apple pie when it's cold outside. We need the bees. Plant a bee garden, get a hive going, donate to organizations that are trying to make a difference, do something.

This year for Mother's Day, help your mom be a source of change, and save a few bees.
What better way to celebrate Mom, than to save the world's fruits and veggies?